


A Legacy of Stone

by mountland



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountland/pseuds/mountland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no easy story in legacy. What is remembered and what is forgotten, </p><p>Gimli and Legolas set out to explore the glittering caves. Yet it is not only caves they end up finding: Legolas finds his own internalised racism about Dwarves, and Gimli shares his Dwarven culture. </p><p>Written for Gigolas week 2.  Prompt: Culture Clash. Word count: 7,081.</p><p>Explores memory and loss in Dwarven culture from a perspective that mirrors modern Jewish writing on memorialisation and trauma. Expands upon Tolkien's Jewish-Dwarven influence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Legacy of Stone

The fellowship had once again took to different paths after many months of feasts and celebrations together; for the funeral feast of Théoden, the wedding feast of Aragorn and Arwen, and the coronation feast for the newly crowned and named King Elessar Telcontar had all fallen in quick succession of one another. Gimli and Legolas, who had remained as inseparable in peace as they had in war, rode together upon Arod towards Helm’s deep to visit the glittering caves and then on to Fangorn forest, as they had promised one another what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The caves came into view as the shadows upon the ground had started to lengthen in the golden sunlight whose warmth was seeping away into the cool breeze.  
“It does not feel the same” commented Legolas as they arrived at the entrance to the caves. Though whether that was due to the company, the crisp evening light that pressed upon him a feeling of calm and serenity, or the lack of debris and orc remains that had littered the ground whence they had last stood at the entrance to the glittering caves he could not tell.

“I’ll hold your scaredy-elf hand if ye get scared of the dark” jousted Gimli, investigating an entrance to the caves that looked wide and tall enough for both of them to enter with ease.

“Only if you let me carry you like a princess when you get scared of a rabbit in Fangorn forest” smiled Legolas following Gimli’s lead.

“You’ll taste my axe if you so much as try!” Came the proud as ever reply, echoing out of the cave.

Legolas’ reply died on his lips as they entered deeper into the caves, for even an elf who did not traditionally value the beauty of rocks could not help but fall silent in wonder at the sight before him. In the low evening light glowworms had stared to stir in the roof above them like stars in the night sky and were surrounded by luminous beaded threads that rivalled even the most delicate chandelier of mithril in their beauty. The cold blue light reflected off the water turning the cave into a tapestry of colour ranging from the brightest of silver-blue starlight to the rich deep tones of midnight. These colour mixed with the golden light streaming in from the entrance to the cave and mixed together in the flowing water to create symphonies of swirling colour that were refracted in the gems, crystals and veins of precious ore that glinted in the walls polished smooth by thousands of year of smoothly following water running through them.

“These caves, beauty alike I have never seen before, for they are more beautiful upon a second viewing now that the memories of the last time we walked here are part of them.” Gimli exclaimed, running his hand over the smooth stone surrounding him. The pearls of Legolas’ laughter echoed around the cave, mixing with the sounds of running water carving out next caves far below them.

“Why do you laugh so?” He asked, what ticked an elf’s humour could be the most unexpected of things but he always wished to understand, if just so that he could make Legolas laugh again.

“Sometimes your dwarvishness surprises me, it used to grate on my nerves and be all I saw but now I find myself forgetting and it startles me when I see it again so clearly.”

“I do not see why it should surprise you, it is plain for all to see. I think it’s the beard and height that is what gives it away most often.” Gimli chortled in response, Elves were such strange creatures, such good eye sight but always missing what was exactly under their noses. Though perhaps that was just his elf, he mused.

  
“In truth I do not see you as a dwarf but as a friend, as you know.” Legolas smiled, the memories of agreeing to die side by side as friends now sweeter in the knowledge that they could instead live side by side as friends.

“Could you not see me as a dwarf and a friend? I see you as my friend and as an elf: it would also be hard to mistake you for anything else.” Gimli questioned, it seemed an odd statement to come from his friends lips. He loved the way Legolas’ face would light up and become so suddenly animated at the opportunity to bore his companions stupid with elaborate descriptions about a leaf he once saw, pretending to listen the incessant singing was also a welcome excuse to not have to converse in the evening after a long day travelling, and Legolas’ pride and tenacity made him the most fun to bet against. All of his companion’s attributes he held dear were as elven as they were uniquely Legolas, there was not a point where one began and one ended, for they were one of the same. For himself there was nothing about him that he could not see as Dwarven; there was nought of men, nor elf or hobbit, nor orc about him. He was as Dwarven as they come as he liked to loudly proclaim.

“I see you as Gimli and that name means many things, friend, companion at the forefront,” Legolas elaborated, “Dwarf I guess also so, mostly so at the beginning, but now it has faded in importance, I forget it is there when I say your name, for your name and all it means are so far removed from the meaning of Dwarf within my heart, that to reconcile the two together brings laughter to me for the contradiction in it.”

“I do not see any contradiction in it” Gimli growled, his heart hammering at his friends words, “You cannot cleave me in two at will to pick out the bits you do not like, as though myself and my people are two separate beings, I am Gimli and a Dwarf – you cannot have one without the other.”

“I did not mean to insult you” Legolas corrected swiftly at the unexpected harshness in his friends voice. It had been a long time since they had regularly taken each other’s words for jibes and he did not wish to lose the easy flow of conversation that eddied between them like a spring in the forest for the thorny battle that had been the initial acquaintance. “It was a compliment, for you surpass all others in my eyes.”

“Surpass all others? What others – all dwarves perhaps?” Gimli’s voice echoed noisily around the cavern as he spat out the words, “Well insult me you now have, and not just I, but my mother and father, and all of my kin. To hold me above my kind and remove me from my heritage as a compliment does not honour me, nor elevate me, but degrades all dwarves, of which I am one.”

A sickness set into Legolas’ churning stomach at the strong rebuke of his intended compliment, “Curse the stubbornness of dwarves, why do you pick an argument when there is none?”

“Oh so I am a dwarf now that you see something in me you dislike, but when you see things you like I am removed from the category of dwarf?” Gimli challenged, “I am not seeking an argument but will not stand idly by when our so called compliments say more about your opinions of my people than they do about your opinion of me.” He turned around and stalked off.

“I only meant to compliment you, I wish I had said nothing at all now” Legolas countered, following his friends retreat.

Gimli turned round, his eyes like Legolas had only seen before in battle, freezing the elf to the ground like another stalagmite. “The problem is not that you said it but that you thought it in the first place and still feel it.” Gimli paused, the emotions coursing through his veins taking him back to the start of their friendship; all anger and misunderstandings, “Unless I am mistaken in what you intend to say, what was it you meant to compliment me on?”

The challenge in Gimli’s voice did not slip by Legolas unnoticed. Yet, he had never been one to back down from a challenge thrown down by his friend and so responded with utter surety and conviction. “I merely meant to comment on the attributes you possess: your loyalty and bravery, your honesty. To thank you for all that we have shared together and all that you have trusted me with as the closest of comrades do, all the attributes that make you uniquely you, all that make you exceptional amongst dwarves and most men, I treasure.”

“I thank you for the compliment you intended, but do you not see that so say that it is not a compliment if the only way you can see those things within me is to separate me from my race? It shows the truth in your heart that you still see dwarves as capable neither of loyalty, nor bravery, nor honesty. You do not see me as whom I truly am.”

“I admit I did once think that no dwarf was capable of such things but no more, I am sure there are others of your kin like you.” Legolas quickly responded, his words like a shield.

“Yet, for the majority you still believe to be less than honest?” Gimli persisted.

“You cannot say that all dwarves are honest!” Anger had started to leak into Legolas’ voice,

“I do not say all, for my people are like any people, some are honest and some are not, but it is not their dwarven heritage that makes them such.”

“I admit I have not met many of your kind but the ones I have, excluding you, have all been the same: obsessed with wealth and gold, secretive, calculating and less than honest. Dwarves are known for these attributes, it cannot be a coincidence that they are known as such by men and elves alike across the lands. I know now through our acquaintance that you cannot tar all with the same brush, but the reputation must come from somewhere.”

“It comes from ignorance! That is where it comes from!” Gimli roared. He paused before responding further, trying to control the anger he felt pulsating through his body. He knew of the other dwarves Legolas’ spoke of for one of them was his father. “All this time I thought we were truly friends but now I find out you think that my blood and kin are inherently dishonest and gold hungry. How can you truly value me as a friend if you can only love the parts of me that you see as separate to who I am; which is a dwarf, and I always will be a dwarf, no matter how honest I am in your eyes.”

“Do not act like you are above me on this, you share the same thoughts about elves” Legolas countered defensively.

“Aye I did once, and I was wrong. I love you just as you are; pointy ears, endless singing and all, I wouldn’t change a thing about you, I love you as you are: an elf and my friend. I once thought that I could not imagine dying beside an elf, I could only imagine doing so beside a friend. Now I can only imagine both and only wish for both, to live and die beside you my friend: an elf – the two are not separable for it is only you and all of you I wish to spend all my moments with. Maybe I was a fool to think you felt the same, an elf could never love a dwarf. A fool I have been.” The anger he had felt washed through him and away at the shock of having just made himself so vulnerable in a battle of words, leaving him tired and drained. Silence stretched out between the two like a vast, uncrossable chasm.

Gimli was the first to move, silently turning around and leaving the glittering caves and Legolas behind him.

 

\------

 

It was as the sun started to slowly fade below the horizon that Legolas dared to approached Gimli again as he sat chipping away at the small stone which had slowly and steadily started to take the shape of an Oliphaunt over the course of their journey.

They sat side by side in silence before Legolas spoke softly, “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“Aye, I know.” Said Gimli truthfully, though he could not hide the weariness and gruffness in his voice.

“But I did, and I apologise for all the stars to witness.”

“Aye, I know.” A small amount of warmth spread into his heart at the sincerity of the apology.

“I think you are wrong.” Legolas said suddenly.

The warmth in his heart was snuffed out as quickly as it had appeared, “I am not in the mood to start this argument up again, the wound you have dealt me is far deeper than you know if you seek to open it again so soon.”

“You are always too hasty, listen to what I mean.” Legolas gripped his arm gently, until Gimli turned his attention from the small stone in his hand to Legolas’ face. “I mean that you are wrong to think yourself foolish that an elf could ever love a dwarf. Or maybe I am just as foolish as you for I do believe that an elf could love a dwarf, in fact I believe I do, love a dwarf that is.”

“Do not make such confessions out of guilt for misspoken words.” Gimli’s heart ached, for he had longed to hear those words but here they felt empty.

“I do not speak an untruth in haste to make amends for past deeds. I have felt it growing for a long time, though I did not wish to name it, but I do now, freely and openly, love you, a dwarf, for all that you are.” Legolas ventured, the honesty in Gimli’s own confession, albeit in anger, had spurred him on. He was not one to be scared to venture where his companions had already gone, especially Gimli.

“You cannot love me for all I am when you hold such lies and misconceptions about dwarves in your heart. You only love a version of me you have carved in your own mind and not me as I am, and I cannot return the love of one who feels like that about me or my people.”

“Then maybe there are some things I should learn, or perhaps unlearn.” Legolas responded slowly but thoughtfully, “Would you be willing to teach me?”

Gimli did not respond for several minutes, chipping away at the stone in his hand methodically before placing it back in his pocket. “If you are willing to learn, then yes, I would. But first of all we need to get a fire going in one of entrances of the shallow caves, it will be night fall soon.” He rose and walked back to the glittering caves, leaving Legolas to start paying his penance through the gathering of wood.

 

\-----

 

After eating their fill, they sat around the fire in silence watching the swirling patterns of glowing ash leap above the fire, a delicate dance against the rhythmic movements of the shadows cast upon the wall of the cave by the flames. Legolas was unwilling to bring up the conversation and face his shame for the words spoken earlier, whilst Gimli seemed content puffing away slowly on his pipe weed and in no hurry to break the silence.

As the moon rose high over the trees, Gimli removed the pipe from his mouth and stared deep into the flames, collecting his thoughts before starting to speak:  
“As you pointed out, Dwarves are widely considered as persons obsessed with money, wealth and gold. We are known throughout the land, by more than just elves, as a calculating, secretive and a less than honest race. And as you said, such reputations do not spring up from nowhere; they do have a root of truth but are ill-founded conclusions born from ignorance and a clash of cultures.”

He puffed on his pipe, as though wondering where to go from there.

“Obsessed with gold is perhaps the most common prejudice held against my people, especially against Durins’ folk of Ererbor, and so here I shall start. Whilst King Thror was affected by gold sickness, he was but just one dwarf, and there have been many other races of whom greed for power and gold has mislead the deeds and mind of their leaders who initially intended to do good, it is not a weakness known only to dwarves. Nor is it is a weakness all dwarves possess or that the race of dwarves possess more so than others, including elves.”

The tips of Legolas’ ears tinged pink at the reference to the core of the disagreement between his father and the line of Durin.

“Yet, I can see where these misconceptions came from.” Gimli smiled kindly. “To understand their root you firstly must understand the desperate poverty of my people: all that you have met so far have been of noble or royal blood and so even though you may think us rough you would not have thought us poor. Whereas, poverty is the reality most of my people face. Before the ruin of Smaug this was not the case, like your kingdom we had wealth, power and a place to call home but all of that was taken from us in a day. Suddenly we had no homes, no food, no clothes bar the ones on our back, no name and nothing to offer the world. All the work, time and effort that dwarves had put into building a life for themselves and their families disappeared in flames and we were left with nothing, to start from scratch again –financial security that had been passed down through the generations had disappeared, and has never returned for many.”

“I had not considered what had happened to those who survived,” Legolas admitted, “I assumed they were the lucky ones and would go and start a new life as easily as I could walk out and start again if I wished, though it is only through the plenty of my people and their prestige that such an option is open to me.”

Gimli hummed in agreement.

“We became the poorest of the poor, for even the poor generally have family to share the toil and burden of poverty with. But for us there was no such comfort. No one escaped that day without losing someone. Families were torn apart, children orphaned. The old and infirm lost those who cared for them and found themselves having to toil all day for enough money to feed themselves, when they should have been enjoying their last years surrounded by the families they had worked so hard to build in their youth. Some dwarves were the sole survivors of their whole family; others who were barely adults themselves found themselves the head of their surviving family, with the full weight of responsibility as the eldest upon their shoulders before they could bare the weight of a battle axe.

My father’s generation did build a new life for us in the Blue Mountains but that cannot be done in a day, many died from poverty, from hunger, starvation and the cold before they could start to rebuild their lives. It changes a dwarf, to never know where the next meal is coming from or whether there would ever be a next one, to know what it is like to lose everything, to have no security for your future. Some wounds never heal and you can see that still in my father’s generation; many of whom would forsake all promises to strangers if it would guarantee putting food in their babes’ mouths, as many witnesses their younger siblings slowly starving because they could not find enough food or work to save the remainder of their decimated family. There are some hurts than can never be undone, and all that can be done is learning to live with them, even if the coping mechanisms look bizarre and cold, even greedy, from a stranger’s perspective.”

He stared into the fire lost in the memory of the pain of his people and his own unsoothed hurts.

Although Gimli had not been born before Smaug, the pain of the loss of Erebor had not passed him by. It was an inherited pain passed from his parents to him as he saw and lived their pain and trauma caused by the dragon, whilst also being the first generation of his family to grow up knowing the pain of hunger, toil and strife in the cities of men. He was in many ways a stranger among the people he was born into, his accent and culture different to those around him, both dwarf and man. For he was neither a dwarf of Erebor, nor a child of man. He was a new kind of dwarf, a dwarf who had not grown up surrounded by his own rich culture and was instead raised in the culture and cities of men, unconsciously adopting some of their sayings and patterns of speech much to the discomfort of his elders. Yet, the children of men grew up and then grew old before he had even come of age, leaving him with even less in common with them than with the dwarves who had grown up in Erebor’s walls.

He remembered his cousins, Fili and Kili. They had embraced this new status, a new kind of dwarf who wore their beards in a combination between the manner of men, short and trimmed, but with a slight dwarvish touch could be seen in Fili’s braided moustache. He had hated it. He hated feeling like a disappointment, like he was removed from his parent’s culture, like he did not belong anywhere. He had grown his beard as thick and as dwarf like as possible, but it always felt like an act, trying to prove to everyone that he was as dwarven as they came, to give back his parents some of what they had lost, but always playing catch up against an unrelenting river that eroded the culture he tried to emulate.

Yet, here he was, side by side with an elf. His life so far had been solely about being the ideal dwarf, and here he was about to throw that all aside for one elf, one friend.

‘Nay, more than that’, his heart urged, ‘his one and only’. But that could never come to be whilst his love viewed him as other and so he pressed on.  
“It is also important to understand how heritage is communicated, to understand our ways for what they are and not mistake them for greed.” He started, but then paused as if stuck how to continue for a few moments.

“Amongst Elves you sing and pass your heritage and traditions down through word of mouth, while also writing them down. For Dwarves while we do also write, we did not traditionally tell our stories though song, but do so instead primarily through objects. Our stories, our heritage, our religion, our sense of place is recorded and told through symbolism and a complex language interweaved with objects.

An uneducated eye may see a dwarf mourning the loss of a golden plate and think that we mourn for the monetary loss of gold, when what we mourn is the intricate tale of our ancestors that was engraved into that plate and the story added to it by each generation. We mourn the loss of our heritage within that object that we can no longer pass down to our children to hold, rather than grieving the physical loss of an item. Once that object is lost its story is lost with it too, we can then only pass on the tale through imperfect words which fail to show the detail and beauty of the story in the object, you can no longer feel it and touch it in the same way and see layer upon layer of generations who shaped that story. Through solely speaking a story, the story changes and fades with time until it becomes a forgotten shadow of its former self.

Objects to dwarves are not merely possessions of monetary value but they are memory. They are gateways to the past, for memories are dependent upon a prompt and so can be provoked, resurrected or reconstructed via objects as a corrective form of remembrance that actively resists the silence created by cultural persecution and systematic erasure my people have experienced. The past itself does not equal memory, instead the past must first of all be articulated to become memory, and for dwarves that is done though objects.”

He paused, allowing Legolas time to process the new information.

“I did not know.” Legolas started but fell silent at the stab of remorse for the objects he had taken from the dwarven company a mere 60 years ago.

Gimli responded kindly, the stings from Legolas’ earlier words slowly fading under the abashed look upon the elf’s face and his willingness to learn. “No one expected you to lad, for we do not share the objects of importance with others as an object’s story is shaped by the person who holds it, and so others are often unaware of the special meanings attributed to certain objects as all the dwarven objects non-dwarves possess have no special meaning to dwarves.”

Legolas looked confused at this last statement.

Pulling the Oliphant stone he had been carving from his pocket, Gimli elaborated.

“See this carving to me it means the moments we shared on the battlefield, to you perhaps it is just a strange bead that will one day be worn in my hair. Whereas, in the men of darkness it may become symbolic of a story about how they fought bravely against the Númenoreans and their descendants in Gondor who had long plagued them with death and destruction, yet even in defeat their victors marvelled over their strength, remembering it in stone. Whilst, in Eowyn’s hand it might be a trinket that tells the tale about her victory over those who served under Sauron, for her children to one day play with when they play act their mothers bravery on cold winter mornings spent inside their huts. Once we have died…”

He corrected himself.

“Once I have died, and this is passed on to other there is no knowing what its story will become or what people will read into our story. There is no single history within an object but multiple ones co-existing. But other races are blind to these stories and write over them which is why we Dwarves guard our relics so preciously. Stories cannot be destroyed without total destruction of the object but each new owner writes their own story on top, so that a trained eye can peel away each layer to see each story. We dwarves do not wish our tales to be over written by others who would so quickly forget ours, not much of us exists in your record keeping and we do not wish to be obliterated in our own work.

To us objects once possessed by now long dead people absorbed their feelings and presence and so continue to exist as a carbon copy of the original, until object and ghosts, original and copy are impossible to distinguish from one another. Through making this I am putting a little bit of myself , a little bit of us, into stone that will last beyond my own death, a taste of immortality that does not challenge that of the elves, but is enduring in its own sense. This is a strength objects have that spoken stories do not; for stories that are passed down orally must come from survivors, and so cannot speak for the dead. Yet, through objects that outlive their once owners a history of the silenced can be resurrected and re-represent lost stories, even if those stories and objects are reinterpreted by each generation and culture that possess them.

These ghosts of owners past are dependent upon objects, once the encapsulating object disintegrates the emotion held within is released, without an object to articulate memory the memory dies. Through obliterating the stories within objects, you kill our ancestors all over again, permanently this time; forever dividing the realms of the living and the halls of the dead. This is why we guard our objects so closely, for to give over what you may feel would make an attractive fruit bowl would be to sell off the presence of our ancestors. But to the person who sees solely a fruit bowl, it is easy to see why they would assume we were a greedy race when we refuse to part with it.”

After such a long speech, the silence in the cave seemed oppressive and all consuming. Yet, neither was willing to break it.

Finally Legolas spoke, but in hushed tones.

“I was brought up to believe that Elves knew more than any other race, but the more time I spend outside my own people and the more I learn, the more I realise how little I know of the world.”

Gimli chuckled in response, destroying the oppressive atmosphere that had built up around the fire.

“That is a riddle that our dear hobbits would love: what do you find you have less of the more you have?”

Legolas joined in with Gimli’s laughter, “we will have to remember that one for when we see them next, might keep them out of trouble for five minutes if we are lucky”.

They slipped back into silence for a while, before Gimli responded to the statement again, perhaps reading what Legolas had meant rather than what he had said, as was the ways of elves to often do so.

“But it is no fault of yours that you did not know more. We are a closed culture that does not share with others, especially Elves who often assume they have a right to know everything.”

Gimli continued ignoring the indignant look Legolas shot his way at the last statement.

“Ours is a dying culture, we struggle against it but the great dwarf kingdoms of middle earth will never be what they once were, or what I dreamed they might once again be, for those dreams died in Moria with my kin.

That is where I believe our reputation as secretive and less than honest hails from. We do not share our language as it is a gift from the creator to us, for others, who are not kin by birth or marriage, to use it is an unspeakable indignity. Upon the lips of others it is an abominable and obscene imitation, it is tantamount to a declaration of war against our culture and our religion. To use our language improperly is to steal from Mahal themself and abuse the gift intended solely for dwarves for personal and selfish gain, with no regard for the spiritual and cultural well-being of my people as a whole. Any words you hear spoken in Dwarvish tongue, by those whom we consider others, have lost their power and been robbed from us. For example, Moria which we called Khazad-dûm once, is not called Khazad-dûm anymore within our people as that name is now known beyond my kin. By others speaking of it as Khazad-dûm the word lost its power and meaning, and so was replaced by another of which I cannot speak to you currently or else destroy it also.

As I said we are a fading culture but we will not go down without a fight and will continue to preserve the purity of our precious traditions for our future generations, so that our children and our children's children will survive and prosper in the sacred manner intended for each of our respective peoples by Mahal.”  
They lapsed back into silence, and Gimli steadied himself for the reactions of an elven prince who had probably never been denied any knowledge that he had desired in his life.

Legolas spoke slowly and carefully, which was a new sight for Gimli, who secretly adored the quick tongue of Legolas that would run away with him before the prince thought about his words and the response they would elicit. It was a habit that was constantly getting them into all sorts of trouble for the elf’s rashness but left no question over Legolas’ thoughts and opinions on any matter. Yet, it was a trait he valued as it was a comfort to always know exactly where Legolas stood on any issue and to know that what he said was the truth, possibly because he was too much off a fool to think one thing but say another. Not that he himself could be excused of that particular foolish habit either.

“I understand and will respect this tradition, but I will not lie that I do feel great sadness at this. Not because I feel that I deserve to know everything about your people, but that I wish to share my all with you and spread my soul bare so that you know every part of me, and I grieve the chance to experience the same with you. For I wish to share everything with you and know you truly, deeply and intimately, as all that I know so far about you delights me. But I will not ask for what you are unwilling to give, and I will not attempt to take what is not mine to take. I am content to cherish whatever your faith and culture permits me to know of you.”

Gimli purposefully avoided Legolas’ gaze, turning his attention back to relighting his pipe which had gone out during their conversation. To him it seemed a strange pace their relationship had taken, courtships between dwarves were conducted at a different pace, through actions and demonstrations of affection and avoiding speaking of love too quick or too long, rather than the long and poetic vocalisations Elves seemed to favour. These conversations did not come naturally to him, they felt over-analytical and the speeches of life long dedication before the couple had even shared a bed seemed a foreign way of conducting a courtship. But as the old saying went ‘a tumble in bed, makes two elves wed’ and so he understood in some way, for he would not like to wed someone before he was sure his sentiments of life-long commitment were shared. Even so these conversations still felt like going into battle wearing naught more than his beard, though judging from the way Legolas incessantly fiddled with his hair it seemed he was not the only one who found these conversations unnerving. Sighing he turned his attention fully back to Legolas and his confession, better to put the poor lad out of his misery before he fiddled his hair into a birds nest of knots.

“It is an unknown path we take, but I do not intend to hide parts of myself from you. Whilst it would be generally considered sacrilege and desecration of the highest order to share my secret name and the secret tongue with an elf, it is also not the way of Dwarves to not share such things with my one. Hiding such things from your one is a cruel and lonely existence in this life and the next.”

Pausing to gather his courage, he continued

“And that is who I feel you are, my one. This is not a truth I speak lightly, for once it is said it cannot be taken back and a Dwarf loves only once. But I find in my heart that if you did not feel the same, or changed your mind in a few years, I could never love another, so saying it now does not make it anymore or less real, as it has already come to be within me that it shall be you and no other who will hold my heart. In which case there is nothing of me that I will hide from you and there is no dishonour in sharing my all with my one. Although many of my kin may consider it heresy, even if you are the one to whom I pledge my love for life to, due to the heritage of your birth, but it is not of their concern and it is not for them to decide. It is but is between me and Mahal and there my conscience is clear. So do not fret, if we are to embark upon this journey together then it would not be a one sided exchange.”

“I feel the same, no matter what our people think my affection for you shall never waver” Legolas said as he leaned in closer to Gimli, whose arms reached out to gently cup the side of the elves head and guided their heads together.

Gimli gently bumped their foreheads together, although it was customary to do it with more force he reckoned that Legolas needed his brain as unscrambled as possible, he lacked common sense enough without a concussion. He softly stroked Legolas’ jawline where his thumb lay as he guided the elf from the touching of brows to a rubbing of noses, trying to ignore the laughter Legolas was desperately trying to contain.

“You’ve spoilt a perfectly good moment there” Gimli grumbled as Legolas’ lost his battle to laughter, “what’s tickled you this time?”

“I was just expecting a kiss more than a headbutt” Legolas explained between ripples of laughter.

“I had quite forgotten that quirk of elves. Nothing wrong with a ‘headbutt’ as you so eloquently called it.”

Legolas smiled brightly in the warm light of the fire, “Come here”, he commanded, reaching out to draw Gimli into a kiss.

“Nope, no more, you’ve ruined it” Gimli huffed in mock indignation, playfully turning his head away from Legolas and moving as if to leave.

“Oh do quit complaining Master Dwarf and put those lips to good use.” Legolas playfully pulled Gimli back towards him.

Gimli dropped his pretence at offence and turned into Legolas’ embrace, their lips meeting in a warm and passionate kiss.

“I guess this kissing business is not too bad, I am sure I will learn to endure it” Gimli declared, “that last one wasn’t too awful, nor the one before it, might have to try a few more just to be sure.”

Legolas responded with a poke to the stomach, then before Gimli could complain he bumped their foreheads together, snuggling into the warmth and smell of Gimli, “and I too could become accustom to this”. Together they sat relaxing into the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the others embrace, heads resting together.

“I think we could do it” Legolas murmured.

“Hmmm?” Gimli questioned sleepily.

“Build a colony and live here together.”

Gimli mulled the proposal over in his sleepy mind before speaking, “Would you be happy with that? I would not ask you to live somewhere you could not be happy.”

Legolas paused, as though he was trying to find the best way to prove the sincerity of his words. “When I was trying to get back to the entrance of the caves earlier I took a wrong turn and came to a vast cavern but the roof had fallen through to create a huge bowl, and in it a small woodland grew. Not like the forests I grew up in but different, greener and damper from the trapped fog and river running through the caves. Above, where walls failed to meet you could see the stars starting to appear. I do not see why that should be the only one, perhaps in here great underground forests grow beneath ceilings of star light, connected by caves and tunnels that have skies of star-bugs in them and shinning rivers running through them.”

Even though he spoke calmly, a glitter of excitement was audible in Legolas’s voice, it was a sound that Gimli had heard many times when listening to Legolas’ talk about Fangorn Forest and Greenwood the Great. It was a tone that he suspected Legolas heard in his voice when he talked of Erebor and these caves.

“The only place on middle earth a dwarf and an elf could both live happily in tree and stone.” Gimli observed, his contented smile at the idea cut short by a tired yawn.

“In this world there is a place for everything, no matter how unlikely.” Legolas rested his chin upon Gimli’s head. They spoke no more that night, and Gimli quickly slipped off to sleep in Legolas' embrace.

 

\----

 

As Gimli slept against him Legolas picked up the half carved Oliphaunt that had lain temporarily forgotten and discarded beside them. It was a cool reassuring weight in his hand, smooth and solid to hold but light enough to put in your pocket and forget it was there.

Whilst Legolas had never been one for premonitions as other elves were, he felt sure that its story was about to become part of the story of these caves. For here it would take shape and live as the home he and Gimli built for themselves took shape around it, a silent witness to the events of the evening and many future evenings. In that sense it was part of their story and they were part of its story. Would it remember? Could it remember? He smiled to himself for he was sure if Gimli were to know he had thought that he would have commented on how it was a very dwarven sentiment. Yet, it did not feel alien to him. The elves had long known that trees had voices, why could rocks not have memories. Or maybe that was not why it failed to feel alien, as what had once been dwarven and alien to him was now part of what he held most dear.

Closing his hand around the carving and gripping it tight it felt less like an object and more like a promise, a promise of a future to come and a history just beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Cultural Influence:
> 
> I started this wanting to expand upon the influence of Jewish culture on the creation and portrayal of Dwarves.
> 
> This piece has been strongly influenced by ‘The Hare with the Amber Eyes’ by Edmund De Waal. De Waal is a Jewish author who traces his family history though the Netsuke he inherited from his uncle, the Netsuke become pivotal to telling the narrative of Jewish survival of the holocaust as they are one of the few possessions that survive the holocaust with his ancestors and become a way to articulate the loss, survival and endurance of his family, as well as a way to communicate who each of those family members were by their relationship to the objects. I really would recommend reading the book it deals with Jewish identity from the perspective of a European Jewish author, and explores sensitive topics such as memorialisation of the holocaust and how memory can be articulated through objects while also being an emotional and engaging book (also has positively portrayed gay characters). 
> 
> I also owe credit for influence to W.G. Sebald’s ‘The Emmigrants’ whose narratives deal with Jewish memory, mourning, loss and the passing of time in the wake of trauma. 
> 
> By using the ideas and themes presented in these two books I hope to have created a narrative that reflects the ideas surrounding cultural memory and memorial in a fantasy setting. As well as exploring the themes of multiple histories, communication of loss pieced to together by fragmented objects and the articulation of the past into memory through objects, all of which are themes that influence many authors who explore modern Jewish identity. 
> 
> The ideas surrounding Dwarves not sharing their mother tongue with others comes from Tolkien and I have taken very slight influence in the fleshing out of this idea from Hopi beliefs surrounding being appointed safe-keepers (of the earth rather than language) by deities, and Navajo beliefs around the power of spoken stories/words - both of which are closed cultures. 
> 
> Place Influence
> 
> The description of the glittering caves are based upon Waitomo Glowworm caves of New Zealand which are home to Arachnocampa luminosa, a species of glowworm that lives only in New Zealand and create long strands of silk with beads of mucus on that look like glowing jewels due to the bioluminescene of the glowworms. Inspiration was also drawn from the Hang Son Doong caves in the Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park , Vietnam which has a forest of 100 ft tall trees growing inside and is said to be the world's largest cave.


End file.
